


Generous Impulses

by Aeriel



Category: The Chronicles of Chrestomanci - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 20:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5980264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeriel/pseuds/Aeriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cat wanted to be useful, and Gwendolen was happy to use him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Generous Impulses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shewhoguards](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewhoguards/gifts).



> Thanks to my beta!

"Cat, give me your pencils," Gwendolen said imperiously.

"All of them?"

"Don't be stupid, then what would you write with?"

Cat opened his pencil box and offered the contents to his sister. He usually didn't take many notes in school, since he always had to switch what hand he was writing with when the teacher was looking. As a result, his pencils tended to stay sharper longer than Gwendolen's, which was probably why she was always borrowing them.

Gwendolen borrowed a lot from Cat, but he didn't mind. It was nice to feel like she needed him in some way, however small.

"Are those _bite marks?"_ Gwendolen wrinkled her nose. "Have you started chewing your pencils, Cat?"

Cat blinked. "No." He glanced down at his pencils, surprised. "I did let Edgar borrow one yesterday. Thomas too. I guess one of them did it."

"How disgusting! Get rid of them this instant. We're hardly so poor that we need to use things other children have _eaten._ How dare they return your pencils looking like that!"

Cat thought this was a bit silly of Gwendolen, considering she never gave back his pencils at all, but he obediently threw away the chewed ones.

"I can't imagine why you bother with all those stupid children. They aren't the sort that _matter_ , not in our situation," Gwendolen informed him.

"I like them," Cat said, stubbornly. "They're my friends." It wasn't so much that he was deeply attached to any of them, at least not the way he was attached to Gwendolen, but his friends at school were nice because they wanted to be, not because Cat had lost his parents, and to him that meant they mattered.

Gwendolen made a face. "Ugh, have it your way! But don't bother me when you've run out of things to lend."

Since most of the time he got back what his friends borrowed, Cat never needed to.

"Your sister makes me nervous," Edgar said once, when he and Cat and their other friends were down by the river, trying to skip stones. "Does she really boss around grown-ups?"

Cat shrugged. He knew Gwendolen could be intimidating, but he didn't think she ever needed to force people by magic. "She's a witch. A lot of them want to help her because she's going to be famous."

"And what about you?" Edgar asked.

At first Cat didn't understand. "What about me?"

"What are you going to be?"

That was something Cat tried not to think about. "I don't know. Does it matter?" He would be Gwendolen's brother, so things would be all right, he hoped.

Gwendolen didn't have many friends at school. She was often impatient with children that weren't as clever as her, and never went out of her way to talk to people she didn't know, unless she thought they could do something for her. Sometimes Cat wondered if she'd even speak to him if he weren't her brother.

Still, she was the only person who had always been there for Cat. And he was glad that Mrs. Sharp could see Gwendolen was talented, and was letting her take magic lessons.

Although Cat did think it was odd that they'd barely talked at all about magic when their parents were alive. Surely they must have known Gwendolen was a witch.

The first time it had ever occurred to him to ask was after he'd had cramps all night, and Gwendolen had gotten in trouble.

Half-delirious with the pain, Cat had barely been aware of anything besides his mother holding him in her lap, her hand tightly clutching his wrist. But every now and then, he recalled, his parents had talked in very serious tones that made him anxious.

"We need to speak to Christopher," he'd heard his mother say, though he had no idea who that was. "He would know what to do with Gwendolen."

"I'm not so sure I'd like whatever he had in mind," his father said shortly. "She's our daughter, and-- Caroline, is he awake?"

In the morning, after Cat had slept and was feeling better, it had occurred to him that it was strange that they'd mentioned Gwendolen so often even though he was the one who was sick.

As for Gwendolen, she had crept in late at night, looking pale and unsettled, which she never did. "Are you all right?" she'd whispered.

Cat nodded, too tired to speak just yet but touched that she'd come in to see him. He knew she didn't like sick people.

Gwendolen's face lit up. "I _knew_ it! They've just been making a fuss over nothing the way they always do. Can you believe they want to punish me?"

Cat shook his head, surprised. "For what?"

"You." Gwendolen sat down on the bed beside him and touched his forehead, then quickly drew it away. "Ugh, you're all sweaty."

"Sorry." He was still trying to figure out what she meant. "But I'm sick."

"Mother and Father are talking about sending me away, you know."

That made Cat so upset he struggled to sit up. "No! Why… why would they do that?"

"Because of last night. They think I hurt you."

"But you didn't." It seemed tremendously unfair to Cat that Gwendolen should be blamed for his being ill. "How can they punish you?"

"By stopping me from doing anything again. Or keeping me away from you forever. It's a horrid plan, and I think Father's on my side, but… but if they do, well," Gwendolen tried to look nonchalant, but he could see how desperate she was underneath it. "Will you help me?"

"Of course," Cat said immediately. He didn't want Gwendolen to go away. "What… what should I do?"

Gwendolen beamed. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"That's what I said.

Cat frowned. "I don't understand."

"You don't need to understand," Gwendolen said dismissively. "Just trust me and do as I say, and everything will be all right."

So Cat did, though he was very tired and he didn't remember her doing much of anything. Maybe she'd just needed to be reassured that he loved her.

"That's just perfect," Gwendolen leaned over, practically glowing, then frowned at Cat's sweaty forehead and kissed the top of his head instead. "I'll always take care of you, nine-lived cat."

Sometimes Cat wondered if she remembered what she'd promised him. She _had_ taken care of him, after all, taking charge when their parents died. And he almost certainly would have drowned if it hadn't been for Gwendolen.

But that was before Gwendolen had turned out to be so talented. And although they were all right at the moment, Cat often worried Gwendolen was headed so quickly towards her grand destiny that he'd get left behind, and then he wouldn't know _what_ to do.

Trying not to let his thoughts get too gloomy, Cat focused on the colorful windows he passed on his way home. This was almost working up until he got to a large window box which he supposed must be cared for by the Soothsayer who had a card in the window. For the most part, the flowers looked lovely, all bright colors and cheer, but at the very edge of the box, right by Cat, there was a small disturbance. Two marigolds had lost their heads, probably chewed off by a hungry wild animal, and the third seemed as though it might perish from the emotional distress.

The flower was just starting to droop, petals hanging but not quite fallen off. It looked like it was trying to decide whether to go on blooming or fade away. Cat prodded it with a finger. Spring wouldn’t be over for a fortnight at least. There was no reason why it had to die just yet.

_"Cat!"_

Cat jumped guiltily, even though he had no idea what he'd done to make Gwendolen shout at him like that. "What is it?"

Gwendolen glared down at him. "Stop that. I need you in the house."

So Cat followed her inside. He wondered if it was rewarding, having a garden. It seemed like it might be nice if things actually grew, though you would have to worry about the weather. And rabbits. And cats, probably.

“Your hands are filthy,” Gwendolen snapped. “What did you have to go digging around in the dirt for?”

“I wasn’t _digging_ ,” Cat objected. “I felt sorry for them, that’s all.”

Gwendolen burst out laughing. “What a stupid idea! Is that why you keep letting those brats ruin your things?”

“I wanted to help,” Cat said, although he felt terribly small. “Don’t you think it would be nice for the Soothsayer if all his marigolds were blooming again?”

“I don’t care,” Gwendolen said haughtily. “And neither should you. It’s not like he’d be grateful.”

“Well, no,” Cat said, surprised. It hadn’t occurred to him to think of it that way. “I just wanted to.”

“You’re hopeless,” Gwendolen declared. “Now go away and let me do my exercises.

“I thought you needed me.”

“I changed my mind. Go away.”

On the way to school the next day, they passed by the Soothsayer’s house. Cat glanced at the flowers in the window and was surprised to see them all flourishing, even the ones that he was sure had been half-eaten yesterday. Maybe Gwendolen had fixed them.

"What are you smiling about?" Gwendolen muttered.

"Nothing."

Still, Cat smiled all the way to school.


End file.
